COSY CORNER CLUB.

Otago Witness, Issue 2429, 3 October 1900, Page 58

COSY CORNER CLUB.

SECOND SESSION-SEVENTH MEETING. TOPIC. An .original essay, sketch, verses, or a quotation^nof exceeding 300 words (about)— on any subject the writer may choose. My Dear -Comrades,— l hope you one and all enjoyed our last meeting with its eriaencu of widespread interest. The subject proved, -is I felt sure it would, most attractive, and I should have\ liked very, much to have commented individually on the many excellent papsn contributed. And here I cannc ao better than acknowledge the kind and graceful term? in which so many ir.einbars nave reo ret ted the absence of my usual comments. 1 D Our meeting to-day is in rather a f-enous key, much more so than I expected from a " Membeis' Meeting." I hope before 1 nnisli some lighter papers will come in, for really we shall forget how to laugh if we co not mind ! ... Dear Enimeline,— l suppose you believe ill ideals? Most people, I think, have as part oi their being a worship of that which they recognise to be higher than themselves. It is assumed that an ideal is somewhat higher than the leal; that is to say, that the pors6n who fashions the ideal instinctively turns his thoughts upward. Everyone should have an ideal. It serves to arouse us out of that false contentment &o common to majiy lives. It gives us a nobler conception of life, ana supplies to that life a zest relieving its monotony. We meet persons in life who are piactically characterless. Thcie is nothing positively evil about them, yet their goodness is of the negative laud. Young people drift into e-ul ways, but goodness is to be won only by earnest effort. There come to all young people, through the vista of the years, a vision of what they might be; of what they were meant to be. Aceoinpanjhig this theie comes the sense of the leal, mocking their half-formed desires after good. " The beautiful is always difficult of achievement, ' and the way thereto" seems hard and rough to the feet -anaccustomeel to its paths. But courage conies to many, and they essay the ideal. A new ei::och in the life has come, a step in the light direction. The ideal must be formed after some pattern. Is it not tiuo that what we aie, consciously or unconsciously, assists us in forming that ideal, and when it is formed! the reflex influence oi the ideal moulds cur future character 9 How essential, then, that the ideal should be a, worthy one ! Many there bo whose thoughts lira merely in the direction of wealth, education, and sport. EnviiOiiment has also a great depl to clo with the formation of ideals. A person brought up in low and nanow surroundings will invariably plan an ideal low and nanow; but there are souls who m their inherent nobility can rise as on eagles' wings, soaimg far above the jiairqw limitations of their luie, until they stand on the lofty eminence where the world's Great Ones stand beckoning. Then, with steady ken, they view the thiiigs of Time and sense, and determining their true woith, they choose the highest. But for the majority of us, who are btit ordinary morlais, we choose what seems best ; but when we reach that, we find there is something higher. So on we go, our souls developing, our vision glowing larger, never satisfied with present attainment, but pressing on toward the highest; oiii- ideals growing with our souls. ' Fear not to build thine eyiie in the heights, TVhcie golden spleaclours stny; And tiust thvsoli unto thine inmost ccul

In simple inith ahvay, And Gocl will make divinely real The highest foim of thmc idee I." —STARLIGHT,

ii r ou are quite right, Starlight, in the value you place on ideals. In each lif? it is the ideal which determines the real — what we are, depends so much on what v, e desire to be. That is why one is &o often grieved to notice how many parents never think of setting before theii children any ideal but that of cleverness or worldly advantage. To be leally a part of the character, a high and noble ideal requires to be inhaled, a a ix, were, in childhood. Honour and purity, trulh and unselfishness may seem great topics, far above the nursery limits, but these great qualities may have their ohildish modes ot

realisation and expression — the germ of whaS will grow -with the child's growth, and provide him amid strange scenes and under aliea skies with an ideal.

Some characters are -strong enough, as you say, to "Go on, souls developing, vision prowing larger, never satisfied with present attainment," etc. To many natures, however, environment and example are everything. Deficient in ideality they are obliged to construct their ideal largely from the actualities which surround them, *and it is the unconscious influences of childhood which are most powerful in this direction. Do you not think too, Starlight, that each of us influences some one's ideal for good or evil? The most insignificant person is beloved, admired, followed by some one who moulds his or herself upon the cherished ideal of manner, dress, style, taste, accomplishments — reading the s same books, taking up the same pursuits. The thought makes one realise, almost witlj awe, tho&e lines -of Poe's:

Oh, my mortal friends and brothers, We are, each and all, another's, And the soul that gives most freely Prom its treasure, hath the more. Dear Eninieline, — As the writer chooses his o? her own subject at this meeting, I shall siy something about a matter which, though not a favourite topic, I should like to see discussed. This subject wps brought very forcibly before me when I heard it discussed at a literary so* v ciety meeting, and until then I had not thought very seriously on the matter. The subject is,

Should A¥omen Occupy the- Same Positions as Men in all Walks c£ Life? " Some say'yesj and some say no. I don't take either side, for 1 believe that women should fill those positions which are best for them. Women should not take every position which men at present hold, because to fill some of those positions they must become as men, and that would be a sad -state of affairs. Women generally are refined and lovable, and if they became firemen on steamers, blacksmiths, stevedores, or even Members of Parliament, they might become coarse like some of the men m those positions. Can you imagine anything more unwomanly than a woman shouting herself hoarse before a crowd, ,with. perhaps a. few stale vegetables flying about her. The occupations which women arc fitted for but which men have monopolised for many years (I don't know why), are those of M.D.'s, chemists, dentists, bookkeepers, and many others similarly refined. One of the worst places for % woman is behind the bar of a public house, for there they are subjected to the insults of those who have become mere like brutes than men ; but they must not resent it, becan&e that would drive away trade. Such places are bad enough for men, but for women, ugh ! Women should not take positions where they assist in the degradation of men. It was a woman who was blamed for the downfall of man, so I think women should try to alone for her misdeeds by trying to raife him up again. I once heard a. man say that women were much the same as ihe lower ammnls. He, however, is one of those most pitiable oi beings called Atheists, and he is ii Darwinian, tco. I have never seen his family portraits, but 1 tuppese the oldest one would be the picture of an animal with fur and a long tail, something like what you see m a cage at a circus. Are you not sorry for him? I am glad that all men are noi> like him. Most men, I believe, think that women are their superiors, but, they don't like to ovm it, 0h,. n0! I think - that women can do more good in the world by le'rnaining as women; and in ISTew Zealand they can make good use of the Franchise by putting the right man m the right* place, and by doing their Lest to luake their nation a temperate and moral one; an example to the rest of tho world. I shill leave it to the other members of our club to judge whether there is any common, sense in this aiticle or not. They must "not expect much fioni a fellow just cutting hia wisdom teeth. In concluding, I should like to ask — Why should women, if,- they are the superioi sex, vianu to lower themselves to the level of nien?

CRANK.

The topic you have chosen is one leading to find involved in a great many side issues, Crank. It is a very good topic for discussion for that very reason, but, of course, in our " Members' Meeting-." each one choosing their own topic there is no discussion. Personally I agree with you : there are many occupations quite unsuited to women ; but I think among those unfairly monopolised by men for so long might be included drapers' assistants. The spectacle of a man simperingo\ev "the latest thingc, in ribbons and silks is to me sickening. A few strong boys> to reach down and replace the heavy goods in a draper's shop are the only specimens of the male sex necessary there. Yes, you are right about barmaids. If the temperance partyhad set themseh es to carrying a measure making it illegal to employ women in bars how many a ruined life might have been saved? flow much more good would have been accomplished than by raising the crop of deceit, perjury, ''and adulteration which marks the imposition of unwilling prohibition. Dear Enimeline, — "There is nothing like fun, is there? I haven't any myself, but I clo like it in others. Oh, we need it, we need all the counter-weights wo can muster to balance the sad relations oi life. God has made sunny spots in the heart. "Why should we exclude the light from them? " These words are not mine, Taut Halhburton's, andtliey exactly excess what ' I want to say. I really clo think piizcs should be given fci iun of all sorts. The broad htimour, the delicate wit, the absurd and cheering pun which is within the reach of most intellects. Tiadition hath it that wit is the highest form of humour, and a pun the lowest. This may constitute a pun as "the basis, or tho " base form." Recording to Holmes, it is tha latter. He says, " People that make piins are like wanton boya that put coppers on railroad tracks." But at least they have the coppers. Some folk have not. Shakespeare used every, coin of the realm, gold, silver — and coppers, and he gives his reason thus : " A merry heart goes all the day ; your sad tires in a rmle-a." Even so. If we must weaT the fustian of everyday life, we may at least deck it with the ribbons of srmLes and merry words. ' " Grin, if you've a mate to grm with ; gun and jest aacl don't look blue." This is L/awson's advice, written m wisdom, and worth following, even when the mate grins at and not with you. It is not easy then; but I believe — from hearsay — that an opportune laugh will take tho sting out of many a discomfiture. I remember when I made my first suet pudding, — out of sat put aside for candles — and 1 was the only one who did not laugh when it came to table. In fact, I rather think 1 cued! Bairie was quite right m saying that o.ie " canna be expectit baith. tae mak' a joke an' tac see't.' If bread is the staff of life," I mlly believe fun is the staff of long life ; ioi " cart> to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt, mid evuy <^iin so meny chaws one out." Sheffield calls Sir Thomas Moore " A dying hero, miserably witty," but was it not his brave, cheerful facing of death that made him a, hero? All our greatest men have been " fellows of infinite jest. In fact, fun ninkes the world & merry-go-round instead of a treadmill, and I believe it is more than half our own fault if, like "Will "STaterpioof, we go through life " always as merry as a thunderstorm in the night." TED. Like you, Ted, I think there. i| fto doe.(-£g

like fun ; no tonic like laughter. Laughter and sunshine . Of all the people in this world I pity most sincerely the people who have no sense of humour: how touchy, how narrow, how prim, how dreary they are ! Could not a sense of humour be cultivated? Unmusical people learn music, and people ■without a shred of artistic feeling or ability learn painting — why not learn to be humourous? Or would acquired humour be as soulless as the voice that is " produced,'' and the painting that is laboriously acquired? How a sense of humour can lighten the load of everyday monotony. Your suet pudding, Ted, fulfilled an admirable purpose, no doubt. It became, as lam sure, a "Family joke," like the first bread I attempted to make. White bread would not content me — a dainty Kile brown loaf was my ideal achievement. It was a charming shape, but seemed curiously inert— didn't •" rise," and its weight was extraordinary. I found out afterwards that the ".seconds " was hopelessly bad. And my bread became a family joke, like the poached eggs my brother tried to manufacture with a. tin of egg powder ! But, Ted, I really do agree with Wendell Holmes about puns.

» * . • • Dear Emmeline,— Life is made up of little things, and trifles are never to be despised. He who travels over a continent must do it step by step. Those who write a book must do it sentence by sentence. Spiings aic little things, but they arc the source of large streams. Acorns cover the earth with oak&, sands make Tip the bar at the haibour's mouth; nails and pegs are little things, yet do they not hold parts of the large buildings together? A word, a look, a frown, ars all little things, but powerful for good or evil. It matters not where we are as what we are, and little acts are th& elements of true greatness; antl the real heroism of life, is to do its little duties piomptly and faithfully. One in a thousand, once in a lifetime, may do some great heroic action, but the small things that make up the lives of most of us come every day and every hour. What, then, is the happiness of our life made up of? Little courtesies, little kindnesses, pleasant words, genial smiles, a friendly letter, . good wishes, and above all, sympathy for the Borrowing and suffering. « . . how many breasts are aching For lack of sympathy! Ah, day by day How many cheerless, lonely hearts are breaking, How many, noble spirits pass away, Not understood!

We cannot all be great rivers bearing great vessels of blessings to the world, but we can be little springs by the wayside of life, singing merrily all day and giving the cup of cold water to every weaiy, thirsty one who posses by.

ROWAN TREE

Your paper puts very sweetly so much of what I meant to say in '" A Homely Little Virtue," my dear friend. So few of us dare compliment ourselves on being anything more than the nails and screws of the house of life, where the world's famous ones stand out as pinnacle, arch, and slender heaven-pointing tower — and yet we are a necessary part of the great whole. But it it' the doing of the little things which tries one, which demands unfailing love and untiring patience. Oh, Rowan Tree, it is far easier to make a ■great sacrifice, plunge into a deep self-denial endure a moment's pang of agony, than to keep a brave front and look with kindly, smiling eyes at the foolisii,. everyday little things which perplex and annoy.

Yet one could not desire anything sweeter than io be that " little spring by the wayside."

Dear Emmeliue, — A little sketch of Cullodon Mcor, with, a -short dcscjipiion by the artist on the back of it as to how and when it was done, conjures up such a vivid picture of the desolate plain that I feel drawn to write about it. 'Tis but five miles from Inverness, and yet is just the same wild spot that it was on that April .day, more than a century and a half ago, when English and Scotch fought for the last time against one another; when Prince Charlie lost and England won, but won with such a stigma of cruelty against her general's name, that Culiodon is not a victory which makes an Englishman proud. It is the same — and yet not the same, for the cairn which now stands there tells how ii. is erected in inernoiy of the Highlanders who died, and the vivid green mounds where the men lie buried speak mutely of the fight. Smaller lises are s'eattere:! near by — the graves, pcichance, of officers who fell; while farther on sleep the English dead. There arc two primitive cottages, said to have been inhabited at the time of the battle, and dwelt in to-day.

Here stands the forsaken hut where the wounded were taken ; the thatch is mossy now, and this rough stones have fallen away from the walls, tbaving the gaunt framework exposed; but the few dwellers of the moor respect the sad little hut. While it was being sketched, a small laddie infoi-med the artist that it was "Prince Charlie's iiield hospital. ''•An' it's an_awftt' place o' nights! It's all* afire, and the spirits is groaning. - 1 live o'er there, pointing to one of the huts, '/but I wadna come here after dark — na, not ior my life."' He went on to talk of the last <lay, and there is a keen pathos in his final lemark: "What a sight this iield '11 be, for its full o' dead sodgers." It is nearly 30 years since the laddie's speech -was recorded on the "back of the little sketch, and Culloden has been brought sadly into notice again by the sale of the contents of Cullod&a House three years back. For what could more clearly take -us back to the April of 1746 than the sale of the old dining table at which in turn sat Prince Charles and the Duke of Cumberland, with the battle between their visits? Or the wallting stick which the Prince left leaning against ■the bed the night before the fight ? The fact -that the Queen gave £160 for the walking stick and £393 was given for the table, shows that we have not forgotten because we have left unmolested one of the few old battle grounds that Jie on British shores.

GNIB. J like your sketch of Culloden so much, Gnib. It is vivid, and with its touches of personality so intensely human — that is a weird thought of the laddie's — tho rising of the dead upon the world's battlefields ! I always think it is such a pity that most of us take so little interest in history — no study can bo more fascinating. What can be made of history is shown by Fitchett's " Deeds That Won the Empire,' and "Fights for the Flag." More-over-compelling ourselves to take an interest in history draws the thoughts so successfully away from the "little things" that seem inclined to smother us under their accumulation. If our Cosy Corner Clubs meets again next year, I hope we shall be able to arrange moro meetings on historical and geographical topics. This year's work has been popular, but a littlo too narrow in its limits to realise all our* club should be. So many members — charming writers and keen critics, too — are so far removed from libraries, so completely without any means of looking lip or verifying subjects, that to choose topics requiring such aid is to render them unable to join our meeting/*. Our circle, however, is now &o wide that there will be next year opportunties for all. ' X 4 * * Dear Emm.elin^-— To, &q justice to suoK a

the word I admu - e. A well-known divine tells mo it is the greatest word in the language. I believe he is light. In imagination I must travel away as an invited guest to that ancient home of Saul of Tarsus. What should I find? "A Jew's home, ruled by the Jew's book, illumined by the Jew's religion, brightened by tho Jew's hope, and dignified by the Jew's conqueiing sense of his pumary relationship to the Eternal God." Froticle tells us: "Great natures when young tend to serious thought of life and duty. ' Christ at 12 years of age said, "I must be about my Father's business." Saul belongs to this class. Aftei being trained in the home, he passed, out into the school, which ranks in the building of character on an equality with the home. Saul's youth, at this time, would be charged with emotion, and he would live a pure and guileless life. What a charm and force in such a life! The unconsciousness of wrong. At the age of 13 Saul would pass into the school of the Jewish rabbi. We can imagine him at this plastic stage going to the school of the great master Gamaliel, one of the ablest living teachers of his day. At the feet of this eminent rabbi sat Saul, in all probability, for many years. The promise made of God unto his fathers and the traditions of his lace, which belonged to the great spiritual aristocracy of Israel, would enter like iron into his blood, and it was kept pure and virile all his life. At this time — after the manner of all Jewish boys — he learned a trade, that of tent-making, which was natural employment to one of Cilician origin. Saul now passed out into the larger school of life. After such a training Tennyson's lines come into my mind in regard to Saul : His strength was as the strength of ten, Because his life was pure.

To the superficial reader it may appear Saul's passing from Judaism to Christianity was as simple as the law of gravity. Deep thinkers know differently. Paul knew well the young man's sense of defeat. 4 The fight for the old faith was long and bitter. We have Trim crying in a paroxysm of despair: "Oh, wretched inaii that I am ! Who shall deliver me from this body oi sin and death?" The forces of evil seemed to overwhelm him at times, but tho poet Browning has taught us : "The moral development of the soul is the one thing of supieme interest in human life. Righteousness is man's prerogative, man's crown, but the crown is not one of moral perfection, but only of indefinite moral capability. The moral idea is a far-off goal to be reached by arduous effort." Piogress is 'man's distinctive mark,' It is the (struggle with, evil that gives zes^ value 4

mountain in the clear waters. Far away in front it towers, clothed in its pure winter robes ; from... its jagged rough-hewn peaks, gleaming cold and beautifully fair, the deep crevices and gullies at its base repeating the blue of the sky in deeper yet softened colours. At the foot is a dark circle of bush just now coloured deepest indigo, which the snow ever fails to hide entirely even in the heaviest falls.

The wonderful stillness is broken by the weird, sorrowful cry of a seagull. High overhead it floats, a foam speck in a sea of blue, journeying ever niountamwards, like a white soul winging its way towards eternity. The cry grows faint, is lost! The bird is gone like a melting cloud. Nature seems hushed into an almost deathlike calm ; stjll on her face there is a smile of expectation. The sleeping beauty awaits the charmed kiss of the prince which will restore her to fresh Me and loveliness. Fcr— " Winter slumbering in the afternoon, Bears on her smiling face a dream of spring." DISCIPULA. Let me thanl. you snost heartily, "Discipula," for the beautiful sketch of winter which you have given us. I think it exquisite, and shall cut it out to be enshrined m my book of cuttings. I liked the " Eed Tussock " very much, but this is really exquisite, and I know I shall not rest until I realise as far as my power of painting permits the scene you describe — just to remind me, though roughly, of your picture. Dear Eituheline, — I am sending you a " Cure for Grumbling," not that I think you need it unless it is when jovi get so many papers that you do not know what to do with them. I took it out of an old paper: CURE FOR GRUMBLING. Seeing that this disorder is so very prevalent among young and old in all ranks of society, and piesuming that all who suffer from it surely wish to be cured, and believing still further that I can guarantee an immediate cure, I presume to offer the following remedy and to set forth some of its advantages, which I think give it a prominence over any other already iraown. It is very simple. It does not cost anything. It is always at hand. Can be applied directly by tho patient. Should the grumbling fit return at some futuie time, it can be again vsed with the same certainty of success. T_he remedy and its application as© both €§-

ocean miscalling the river because of its weeds, on the amanuensis of the river deriding the ocean because of the wreckage on its shoie.

A townsman, for my own part, of a milder zone, I delight m claiming cousinship with those who inhabit the land of my dreams.

What a charm that word "country " has for us townsfolk! How it recalls everything iestful and delightful ! It is as rustic as a maze of supplejacks climbing a twisted old pine in a shady gully; as musicful as the cooing of wood pigeons amid the foliage. But who permits us to know so much? Let us explore. A little to the left of the wood pigeons' home we chance on a clearing, in the centre of which stands a cob hut — " wattle and dab " they called it in the old Bendigo days. Horses are grazing in a paddock near the byre, where Snowy and Daisy get milked. How sweet the hay smells ! How comfortable the stacks look! What a host of mysterious machines are lying about, some with bright wheels, some with rusty prongs — things we townsfolk know little about ;" and yet we would like to know more. Perhaps some day " Scocia " will let us into the secret of the endlessness of labour and the blissfulness of repose. Oh, how blissful it must be, the freshness of its winds, the uninterruptedness of its sunsets! How many of us know the blissfulness of labour done, resting by the slip rails to watch "the lowing herd wind slowl3' o'er the lea"? And aftei it all, the massive log fire! We would rather dream an unwritten idyll by the great log blaze m the shadowy corner of the wide old-fashioned fireplace than read the most charming book of the century by our city stove. Mind you, we cannot give up our dainty stove oi modern book. Alas! that it should be so; civilisation in many ways travels too quickly. Necessity has disappeared and given to invention a luxurious mother. We pristine agriculturists are walled and asphalted in, till we have scarce room for flowerpots wherein to foster the beauties of our former Eden! We have built a city, and the city makes us restless and irritable, yet we love it as that; old father must have loved his prodigal son, its beauties we extol, its darknesses we would fain obliterate. Then sleep comes to us ; undei its influence we leave our city shrouded in its dusky mantle, to dream of wide oak-panelled halls, where the huge ox doth yield its broad sirloin. We see the woods lowering beneath the stroke of some giaut woodsman ; we hear the reapers singing in golden corn, " with theii broad blight cycles glancing." As they sing the delvers catch the strain, and the Lord of the harvest, satisfied with pleasure, crowne their followers with fUnvexs, £a. we watcli the half light

coming on, till, in an atmosphere o^ peace a3 pure as that in whiclj^ the cottar oped " the big ha' Bible, onc^\ his father's pride," we lose the cooing oft the wood pigeons amid the chirping of oi?^' city spariows; and in the longing of our drearnp our hearts go out to our country cousins. BOY FRIEND.

I think, my Boy Friend, I have found ouft the secret of your bright spontaneous hai^pi** nes? — you look for and love the " good iift 1 everything." Is it not so? Country that ii God-given, city that is man-made; each liathT its dear and especial delights. Is not " Dis'rf cipula's " winter day exquisite? Yet xfiA colonial men and women are too fortunate} to know the fullest, deepest delight perhaps of the country,, never having been far enough away from its beauties. From the very cen^ tre of our busiest cities we surely see some, peep of the country — gleam of ocean, purpUS shadows of the hills, wide freedom of j>lains,' or distant heights of mountain ranges. We can scarce realise the sensations of dwellers; in tho great manufacturing towns of older countries. Miles upon miles of endles'tf stroets, of bricks and mortar and * clanging pavement. Day after day of fog and smoke, smoke and fog. What is spring— spring in the country — to them? — a babble oi words, meaningless. Why, our city spring, where throughout the low-lying meadows and the green heighta of the suburbs the gorge flames and the willows shimmer in their tender green, would be a revelation to the boy or girl brought up in Liverpool or Manchester. Boom for each soul to grow, space for all, sunshine for all— and " the great, good aky " all undirnmed — are we not fortunate, my Boy Friend?

Dear Emmeline,— l am going to copy ouii one or two paragraphs from F. W. Farrar's (D. D., F.R.S., late Archdeacon of Westminster) lecture on " Books : Their Power and' Blessedness," and hope 'they will be interesting to any of our members who have not read it. "Then think what books have done for liberty. In old days of the struggle for freedom, many a grand speech might die away within the walls where it was uttered: now by the aid of the printing press reverberated through all the nations ; it may go thrilling through all the world, and come rolling back to the speaker in millions of echoes. He uttered but a. thought and it became a proverb for the State; He wrote a sentence in a studious mood, It was a saying for <\ hemisphere. But having thus brought before you the power and beneficence of books in the history of nations, let me ask you to consider what they may be to individual lives for happiness, for companionship, for glorious instruction. Remember only that to enjoy their blessedness you must prove yourselves worthy of their lessons. Without the reader the book is a. deacl thing. If they are to enlighten and elevate you you must be in earnest, and, not of those • flimsy and desultory readers, who fly from, foolish book to foolish book and get good' of none and mischief of all.' To holy and noble readers, books are as ' the life blood of master spirits embalmed for a life beyond life ' : to silly and indolent readers they aro no better than rags and ink. "Think what a difference to human happiness is made by books. Think what life, would be without them, that you may realise, what life may be with them. Do you desire wealth? They will bestow on you wealth beyond all dreams of avarice. Learn but to read' and the poorest of you may be lords of all thai mankind have thought. ' I would not ( exchange the love of reading, said Gibbon, ' for all the treasures of India.' ' Books,' sail? . Wordsworth, ' are a substantial world, both pure and good.' "Think next what books may be to you for companionship. What excuse is there for even, the poorest to seek for base companions, amidthe low haunts where Pleasure forages_ forDeath. Who can say, ' I have no companions? Why if you will, the noblest pf all societies will welcome you. Kings -will titter to you their best thoughts, and saints sit beside you like brothers. Is it nothing that' at the turning of a page you may find the best and greatest of men eager to talk to your, Dante to show you his awfiil visions of judgment. Milton to unroll his organ music. Shakespeare to admit you to unimaginable realms of fairy orators. Poets with their garlands and singing robes about them. v "Do not forget there are bad, silly, and cor-rupt-books. Wherever there is any good thing, die devil provides a bad thing to counteract it. To all the young I would say turn with, horror, with loathing, with contempt from books which are stained through and through, with the passions of dishonour. Do not indulge the vain dream that it will not harm, you. Can a man touch pitch and not be defiled? Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom, and with all thy gettings get understanding. And how shall you get it? Only by prayer to the Holy Spirit of God. , "Where, then, shall wisdom be found? Behold God understandeth and knoweth the way, thereof, and unto man He said, Behold the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom; and to depart from evil," that is" understanding. There is one Book which is the Book of Books, Other books may be as gold, but in this Book, though you be ignorant of all others, there is a wisdom above rubies. In old days a Bible was a present for a king. Now you may in one sense possess the whole Bible for a few pence. In one sense ; but, ah ! how little in another. He who would learn its best blessings musii learn how to read it aright. Like all other true and holy books, to read it you need no other lore, but you do need ' pure eyes and a Christian heart.' And when you have thus learned to read it, from that one Book shall stream a hallowed light which shall illuminate all otliei books, and the true light which, shines in every other book shall add fresh lustre to that one." Hoping I have not encroached too much on your valuable space— Yours truly, MARGARET. You have chosen an excellent authority to quote from, dear Margaret, and the topic of " What to read " is always one of grave importance. I think- too many emotional books are bad for anyone, and yet there are times in ouv lives when .they appeal to us strongly. Is it not curious, too, 'how our tastes in reading change? So much goes on to the rubbish heap ! The extracts which once seemed so potent . and so suggestive, later on, in a few years' time only, we smile at half sadly, half comically. A few master minds in philosophy, art, poetry, fiction, are lamps whose light never fails — the will-o'-the-wisps that charmed for awhile flicker out in Ufe darkness, but these warm and light the soul even at its loneliest hours. . . • • i Dear Emmeline, — The Kipling of the navy-» Henry Newbolt — in that stirring poem, " Admirals AU (A Song of Sea King) " sings thu^ the fame of England's most distinguished na val leaders : — "■ Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake, Here's to the bold and the free! Benbow, Collingwood, Byron, Blake,

Hail to the kings of the sea. Admirals all for England's sake, Honour be yours and fame ; And honour, as long as waves shall break, To Nelson's peerless name!" Such, words as these are surely suf&ciaSfc iSft

character as Saul is a task that would gladden the heart of a trained theologian. There are many different standpoints from which to look at the life and character of th© great Apostle of the Gentiles. It is natural to believe in great men and character. The term is something like the word gentleman. One of the best definitions I know in English literature is given by Emerson in his essay on "'Character. ' .Emerson is a man well qualified to speak, being one of the great individual characters of our own time. '' Character is moral order seen through the medium oi an individual nature. An individual is an enclosure. Time and space, liberty and necessity, truth and thought are left at large no longer. Now the universe is a close, or pond. All things exist in the man, tinged with the manners of his soul. With what quality is in him he infuses all nature tliat he can reach ; nor does he tend to lose himself in vastnoss, but, at how long a curve soever, all his regards return unto liis own good at last. He animates all he ciuj, and he sees only what he animates. He encloses the world, as the patriot does his country, as a material basis for his character and a theatre for action. A healthy soul stands united with the Just and True, es the magnet arranges itself with the pole, so that he stpncls to all beholders like a transparent object betwixt them and the stm, and whoso journeys towards the sun journeys towards that person. He is thus the medium of the highest influence to all who are not on the same level. Thus, men of character are the conscience of the so- , ciety to which they belong." Such a man was Saul. It was this fidelity to principle, high conscientiousness, which preceded his Christianity which was the main source of his character. Since we have a definition of character as a working basis, we shall proceed to a study of Saul's character in detail. The two primary factors that go to the niakii:g of chaiacter are the laws of heiedity and enviionlnent. These naturally branch off under three heads — the home, the school, and the larger school, or world. The home. There is a patriotic ring about

and tiagic significance of life." Paul found a verification of these lines, and in the end ] his character shone out clear as the noondaysun — the humble, pure, true, gifted, and noble j servaab of our Loid and Saviour Jesus Christ. Paul was On^. who never turned his back, But marched breast forward ; Never doubted clouds would bieak, Never dreamed though right was worsted Wioag would triumph. Held, we fall to rise, are baffled To fight better, sleep to wake. Lo ! at noonday, m the bustle of man's worktime, Greet the Unseen with a cheer! Bid him forward, breast and back, As either should be ; 'Strive and thrive!" Cry "Speed, fight on; Fair pver there as here..' LEX. I am sorry, Lex, that it has been necessary to cut down your paper a little. Even now it is> very much over the limit, but you are visually &o very, veiy brief that I have been glad to welcome a longer effort from you. I perceive you are p-till — as when you first wrote — an enthusiastic " disciple of Emerson." I know several of our members who will appreciate the topic you have chosen very much, Lax. Dear Emmeline, — The following is a short winter sketch: — Once or twice in winter there comes a day when the gracious warmth of the sun is scarcely temperod by a sharp breeze. In the clear air all objects stand out with a wonderful distinctness and have a subtlee depth of freshness and purity. Tre"es and nearer objects oppress one, the spirit cries out for space. Therefore go forth where there is nothing above but the clear sunlit blue, nothing on all sides but the pale heaving waves of yellow tussock. '-'Stop now beside Ibis silent pool, fed by a tiny guegling creek and bordered with sober flax and spare bleached toi toi. A breeze like the gentle breathing of a sleeper renders faint and wavering the reflection of a distant

pressed in one little word — sing ! Try it. lam not particular, as to what you sing, provided always that it is right and good and in harmony with your character. Nor does the manner signify, so long as i^ is done heartily, and it may be in any clef, accoiding to individual preference. If the attack is mild, a few bars -in common time, sung piano, will usually suffice. If the symptoms are more decided and severe, fiom 20 to 30 bars, three-four time, forte and lively should be tried promptly, lepeated after five minutes if necessaiy.

Under this course of treatment in a very short time a radical cure will be effected, and the once habitual giumbler become noted for his cheerfulness and uibanity. Again I say, tiy it. Next to a spirit of pi aver, cultivate habits of praise. SWEETBRIAR. The cure is quaint and original, " Sweetbriar," and certainly would stop tho outward expression of grumbling, but I wonder if the soul would not go " girning " on? I think real grumblers have grumbling souls, don't you? There are some people who snap at a child who excuses himself for " answering back," and loudly mourn over him if he is silent for being "obstinate and hardened." The &im ina'kes their eyes ache, and the rain depresses them. They " hate to be asked out, when they cannot entertain in return," and they hate to be "left out" because it just shows what pnobs people are ! I wi&h they would try your cure. Dear Ernmeline, — Tlie bushman who affects to scorn the city and his city prototype are of-, ten met, but more frequently on the other side of the Tasman Sea, where, quite recently, their rival poets waged paper war. To me this seems a waste of ink and eneigy. Surely- there is sufficient inspiration in both city and bush lo occupy all the poetic ability of the land wheic the "Bright red gla"clioli bums," without wilfully raising the dust of the Desert Continent. Moreover, the country is to the city as the river to the sea, and whoever heard the poet of the

naa-ke ths blood course a little faster through Jha veins of the most sluggish. " Sir Richard I G-renville " is indeed a name to conjure with, i .Wiiat Englishman worthy .of the name can pic- I ture to himself the last fight of the little • Re- I vehge" against the mighty Spanish galleons, ! and not feel proud of belonging to the race j that gave a Grenville to the world. Gerald MasseyT in his magnificent ballad, " The Last i Fight of Sir Richard Grenville, ' styles him I very apropriately " our second Richaid Lioji- | heart, 7 ' and gives a most graphic account of the j fight off More- Isle, the fight 6f one against 53:— . , . " Eleven of our twelve ships escaped, Sir Richard stood alone! Though they were three-and-fifty sail — A hundred men to one— The old sea rover would not run, So long as he had rnaji or gun; But he could die when all was done." For 15 hours the one-sided battle raged fast and furioua, the tiny " Revenge " not only j beating off the galleons of the Spaniards time after time, but sending some of them to the bottom. When daylight dawned on the dreadful scene the Revenge with tattered sails and splintered masts was evidently in" a sinking condition. The powder, too, was exhausted^and . Sir Richard in desperation ordered his gunner ; to sink the ship, but his comrades had noVbhe ■heart to parry out the stern command. Ihe brave old sea-dog, wounded to death, was carried on board the Spanish admiral's ship, where, conscious of doing his duty manfully and well-, he exclaimed : •' Here die I, Richard Grenville, with a, joytul and quiet mind." . Well might the words of Longfellow have bean applied to this heioic man : '" But the good deed, through the agea Living in historic pages, Brighter glows and gleams immortal, Uncon&umed by .moth or rust. ' Your \ recognition ' of one of our greatest naval heroes "is an example, "Lois," of- the lines you quote from Loi^fellow. So manyyears have heaped their dust on that gallant j deed without dimming it ; so many thousand j miles of sea and land separate us from the | scene; and yet, how closely it belongs to j us, a part of the heritage of the Bntisn-born ! which nothing can alienate. Surely it is worth while to do brave deeds at whatever cost, to lead noble lives at whatever sacrifice,knowing that we shall leave a heritage not only to our own people, but to all the world? So it seems, but it is not thus that we do or suffer, are, oi arc not. Deed? like Sir Hichard Grenville' s are not done for the future, they are some heroic impulse filling the present— obliterating self— the secret of all heroism, all greatness. And what one has done . . . perhaps? Well, you know what I mean, a noble life, a great deed, something real, tangible, is worth a million theories ?

. • • • • Dear Emmeline,— lt wtfs the eve of the triumph of Geirnanicus. The Roman ■camp on the hills above the Camipagna was hushed in sleep. A tall, fair woman— Siguna, one ii the German captives who were to grace the triumph — had trept to the door of one of the tents, and was •jazing with her eyes dreamily fixed on the tang reach of Roman road which sti etched before her. To her that road was a gicat symbol. It was no mere pliant highway of'corn\mcrce, in gracious windings accommodating itself io the needs of men and difficulties of Nature. No kindly chain, gently binding nation to nation with friendly links, but a weapon \Bf war. Far back into her inner life those aiiowy lines led her, mystic lunes bringing up uhadowy forms fiom the icy hollows or fiery Wbysses of the past, bringing down royal shapes from its sunny heights. The long anarch from the north was over. Rewards and had been assigned to the soldiers who liad distinguished themselves. The Roman Senate, still following the forms of the Republic, had welcomed the army; the conqueror mounted his chariot, and the splendid spectacle of the triumph of Germauicus began. The five young aons stood in the chariot

beside him. Happily, no eye in ths pdrnirmg crov/d could see that one of these was to be the Emperor Caligula. He himself, if not the skilful general they believed him, was a brave soldier, and a commander who inspired his tioops with an enthusiasm for his person such as only men of genuine j-ower of some kind can awaken. Ardent and impulsive, as more than one incident in hia life prc.\ts ibe fervour of his character never led him beyond the sacred bounds of duty, such as he understood it ; chiefly, in all probability, because his ambition, was not selfish. So the stately show sv\cpt along the sacred way — past the Foium, with its prmy of statues, and up the Capitoline ; past the temples, with the broad flights of steps crowned with gazers; the May sunshine lighting lip the dazzling white robes, glowing on the purple and ssffron, flashing back from brazen spear and shield. Slowly it swept up the sacred hill through air sweet with incense ir^m a thousand shrines, vibrating with music martial and festive and with the triumphs and the welcomes of all the people of Rome, slowly it swept on, until ait a point on the ascent it paused. The German captives had reached the State prison on the Capital. Then from the fettered band, according to ancient Roman custom, were withdrawn sonic of the noblest among them, never to reappear. Very slowly the moments of that terrible pause passed for three of the captives. A deepr pallor spread over the face of the mother Siguna as she drew her child Hilda closer to her. Siward's (her son) brow flushed, and he looked round to see if theie were one token of pity in the festive throng. There was a slight silence, a little more eager pressing forward of the crowd to see; — and that was all. Only one little deformed girl asked an old man who was taking care of her what they were doing with those fair boys. " They are going to kill them, end throw them in the dungeons, ' he said. "But li is a festival, ' she said. "Could they not wait?" "It is part of the festival. The Roman peoxDle enjoy strong contrasts. They have a different idea oi the drama from that which we G-reeks had., They like their tragedy real." The little maiden looked perplexed. Theie was a quiet bitterness in the tone of the old man which made Siward glance up in his face for an explanation. The"face was not bitter. There wos a sarcastic curve about the lips, but the dark eyes met the boy's with a kindliness so different from uhe expression of the other faces around him that it made him remember the countenance. Time went on. Germanicus died. Siwjrd was apprenticed to a trade to work out his mothers and sister's freedom. Thirteen more years passed, and now the three are free. The autumn sun was shining tranquilly on Judea, whither they had bent their steps. " They seem expecting some one in the city," said the old man who had minded the deformed girl, who had both travelled with Sauna's party. " The multitudes are more restless than ever to-day, ' he said. "They say he for whom they were looking has come, and has been teaching openly in the midst of the temple. "Loan," said the Roman girl, "can we not hear him?" "H& speaks in the temple," Loan said. "No Gentile may enter there." Women were there who had brought their babes to Him to be blessed. In the streets of Tiberias, wheie they sojourned, it was probable His feet had not trodden. The tyrant who had murdered John the Baptist was its founder, and its prince. It was a mere copy of Greek cities, with a servile Latin name. An affectionate hope awoke in Siguna' s mind. Looking at the deformed girl, visions came to hei of the possible resting oi those kind and mighty hands on the sluunken foim, of a transfiguring of the shiivelled limbs into vigour and beauty such as might fit the brave, loving heait that beat within. Then came the ciucifixion of Jesus. The Christ had vanished from sight into heaven ; but tho Church had come into being, and foi a time at least shone manifestly, a light and a joy to all around. It was a strange age," old Loan said, for such mystical enthusiasm and child-like overflowing of generosity. A hard, prosaic, unbelieving age. Siward and his mother were once more on their way to Rome, looking for the father who was supposed to have fallen in the battle, but something told Siguna that he still lived. But Siward could not sleep, such thankfulness filled his heart, and such wide hopes of a life of per-

vice for his people. " And I," he thought ; perhaps even JL, shall be one of the bearers of this light." Soon they came on a band of captives, and soon they found their loved husband and father, and peace was thens, for they behoved m the great Redeemer. DAPHNE. Your sketch is very interesting, "Daphne," whether it is a qiiotation or original. The picture you have drawn is a vivid one, and excels anything you have done previously. .Accept my thanks, dear, for the pains you have taken to send in something really interesihig, and demanding some time and thought, I am sure. Dear Emmeline, — We of to-day aie nothing if not practical, and for us ajl things must have their use. Man is supreme ; there is nothing lie cannot conquer. All things were made for his special benefit. To be sure, we intist be practical if we wish to succeed at all in our business, but unfortunately it is too often at the cost of many pieity arts and graces. Our desire for sound, practical comruoa sense has penetiated even into the children's world, where rmagra&tioii no longer plaj s the part it is entitled to. This is to be regretted, for many rep sons. Yet wh^t can w-e expect? Children no longer believe in fairies, and Santa Clans is f?st losing his chaim. . They are taught to.-look upon their own pretty fancies as so much childish nonsense. Children are extremely sensitive to ndiculc, and, rather than excite the banter of their elders, crush out all their desires to people their little world with fairies, pixies, and giants. There is always a certain amount of danger in allowing v sensitive and delicate child to exercise its imagination to any great, extent, but for the majority of children it is- of great benefit. Their world is so small, and troubles will crowd- upon them only too quickly; why deny them that which will make their childhood so much brighter and pleasanter? But it is not the children alone who benefit by a judicioas use of the imagination. Young people would do well to cultivate it. Ido noi "wish to intimate^tliat they should spend their time dreaming foolish dreams, and burning incense to vanity. Professor Blackie has very decided opinions as to the importance of having the imagination properly tiained. He s=ays: "There is no need of going to romances for pictures of human character and fortune calculated to please the fancy and elevate the imagination. The life of Alexander the G-rea*-, of Martin Luther, or any of those notable characters oil the grept stige of the world who incarnate the hiptory which they create is for this purpose of more educational value than the best novel that ever was written, or even the best iioetiy." A well trained imagination ennobles, pinnies, and graces life. It enables us to understand ourselves, and with the knowledge theie is gient hope of reformation. It also helps us to a knowledge of other people, then sorrows and trials, and brings us to the realisation of the great fact that all people are not cast in the same mould, and allowances must be made if we would iudge gently or even justly of other people's failings. The petty slights ard neglects our friends suffer at our hard?, almost too slight to be noticed, yot capable of giving su".h intense pain, are the result not of want of love, but of want of imagination. Imagination brightens the most sot did surroundings, lightens our sorrows, and doubles our joys. By it we may reproduce our past and dream it all over again. Very often the dream giveß greater pleasure than the reality, for we "can throw a veil over all that jars or is at all disagreeable. Imagination, like all other gifts, may be abused, and we freouenfcly find people making themselves miserable picturing all manner of clangers and misfortunes. After talcing all this into consideration, the fact remains thot a little more imagination would be of great benefit to most of us, making life richer a^id fuller. HOCHELAGA.

For myself I think it is an iuquij-itive, impertinent age, as well as a practical one, '\Hochela?a." We must know everything, or must fancy that we do. With our discoveries and our explorations there seems to be so little room left now for imagination, even in geographical bounds. "In the days when the world was wide," what delightful mysteries of unexplored countries, with all their fascinating possibilities, faced us. Now — an article in a popular magazine informs us how planets are weighed ! All that you say about the absolute need of a certain amount of imagination in a childhood that is real and perfect is so true that I agree with every word of it. The early age at which children begin their education and "the "jam it in, cram it in" lines upon which that education is conducted destroy much of the sweet tendency to idealism which is inherent in children. Mothers are so busy. There is "no time" to sit in the gloaming on winter evenings and tell the children fairy stories — not" even for half an hour ! No time to read for an hour to the boys the stirring stories of England's heroes, of Grenville, Drake, and Howe. No time? Why no make time? Oh, I know, we are too busy.

Doing what? What is the end of all this toil and moil? More worldly goods, more acres, more wealth, position, pocial advantage, while the soul starves unheeded. There is, indeed, pveh a thing as being too practical, "Hochelaga."

Among all the pleasures of childhood there are some which, in our family, we are never tired of recalling. The fairy tales which mother told us with such delightful mystery on winter evenings, in that gloaming which was f-o ruddily and fantastically lighted by the leaping flames of the wood fire. And when wp grew older the hour, or half hour, of reading aloud when lessons were done, before vi c went to bed. What adventures, what tra\ els, what heroes she read of. Since then I ha\e come lo know that many and many a night she s.nt ap till morning finishing the work which wat. always laid aside with a f-mile when we were ready for the reading.

You can guess how that memory, with the incense of the love that created it, has its own f acred bhrine for all of us. Dear Emmeline, — You have "treated" my previous contributions so indulgently that I have been p'lcouraged to repeat the oEer.cc. There are at least half a dozen quotations I should like to send, but I mercifully restrict myself to two You can inseit either, or neither, oi both, according to your own good pleasure; but please don't leave out your own comments; anything but that. 'Ihe veisci are favourites of mine, and 1 have a suspicion that they will suit the ta<=te of Boy Friend. The clipping is appropriate to last month's topic. I have iust discovered it in the British Weekly of July 16. It is taken from "Impressions of the Christian Endeavour Convention," by the Rev. F. B. Meyer. I believe it contains words of wisdom that are worth putting before your readers if you have space to spare, but of that you are the judge. AN ELDERLY YOUNG MAN. "Address to the Setting Sun," by J. Briuiton Stephens :—

Linger, oh Sun, for a little, nor close yet this day of a million! Is there not glory enough in the rose-cur-tained halls of the West? Hast tliou no joy m the passion-hued folds of thy kingly pavilion ? Why shouldst them only pass through it? Oh, rest thee a little while, rest ! Why should the night come and take 'it, the wan Night that cannot enjoy it, Bringing pale argent for golden, and changing vermilion to grey? Why should the Night come and shadow it, entering but to destroy it 9 Rest 'mid thy ruby-trailed splendours! Oh, stay thee a little while, stay! Rest thee at least a brief hour in it! 'Tis a right roj^al pavilion ! Lo! there are thrones for high dalliance, ali gloriously canopied o'er! Lo! there are hangings of purple, and hangings of blue and vermilion, And there are fleeces of gold for thy feet on the diapeied floor. Linger, a little while linger. To-monow my heait may not sing to thee: This shall be Yesterday, numbered with memories folded away. x-Tow should my fiesh-f ottered soul be set free! I would soar to thee, clmg to thee, And be thy rere-waid Aurora, pursuing the skirts of To-day!

The comradeship of young men and women is also very salutary. We have segregated the sexes too much. We have xsexined up young men in Y.M.CA.'s and young women in Y.W.C.A.'s. We have looked askance on that interchange of thought and temperament, of the rnanlj and womanly elements, which is of such priceless worth in determining and revealing character. How many wretched marriages may be traced to the paucity of the occasioas in which young men and women of Christian families of the better class have had for knowing o.ie auother! How much girls have missed from being shut away- from association -with young men, and how infinitely more young men have missed Trom being excluded fiom the society of high-minded and noble girls ! But in the Christian Endeavour Movement, there is more of the freedom which American society allows. Young men and women may be comrides, with no thought of love-making or flirtation. They sit together on committees, and engage in various schemes of social regeneration. They take equal part in the more public meetings, &h\s> equally with lads being expected to give their responses, and engage m prayer. And though I have had a good many oppoitunities of knowing, i liFiAe not lieaid of one case o£ evil arising from this association, but much of gcod. Indeed, if seems to me wholly f> gain to familiarise each se:: with the other in religious and rosial work, it being granted, of course, 'thst the pastor and his wife or some older persons are always about, and that the girh are specially instructed to maintain a high-minded, modest, and maidenly deportment, for what they are the lads are prettj certain 'to become. And if some early engagements result between young Eiideavourers,'l~sliall not bieak my heart, for in my experience nothing so helps to keep young men pure and sweet amid the impurity of our lar=e cities as the early eugasrement of the affections to some noble Christian girl.

I like the good sound, practical common pcufb of the extract on the companionship and friendship of young people, and the beauty of the sunset picture will go home to all hearts, I think. There is no doubt in my mind that the more truly cultured and intelligent men and women become, the more possible does pure and simple friendships between the sexes become. And if in good time such a friendship as has sprung from kindred interests and ideals does ripen into love, surely it is the highest and be^b kind of love — most likely- to be enduring, because its roots are deep down in the kindly soil of friendship. But lam thinking of genuine, honest friendship and "camaraderie,'' without an atom of silly self-consciousness ; not of the gemi-religioue, interesting-young-curate flirtation, which I abhor. I -ni&h, my friend, you would choose some shorter name, by which I might address you. How would "Platonist" suit you?

Dear Emmeline, — Having little time this week, I .select a quotation from a book I have lately been reading — "Amiel 1 s Journal." I do not know whether what he says of English homes applies so fully now as when he wrote this — nearly thirty years ago. At all events it is in striking contrast to what is the rule in colonial homes.

"These English homes are veiy attractive. They are the recompense and the result of a-long-lived civilisation, and of an ideal untiringly pursued. What ideal 9 That of a moral order, founded on respect for self and for others, and on reverence for duty — in a woid, upon personal woith and dignity. The roaster shows cons : deration to his guests, the children arc deferential to their parents, and everyone and everything has its place. They -understand both how to command and how to obey. The little woild is well governed, and seems to go of itself; duty,. is the "genius loci," but duty tinged with a reserve and self-control which is the English characteristic. The children are the great test of this domestic system : they are happy, smiling, trustful, and yet no trouble. One feels that they know themselves to be loved, but that they know also that they must obey. Our children behave like masters of the house, and when any definite order comes to limit their encroachments they see in it an abuse of power, an arbitrary act. Why? Because it is their principle to believe that everything turns round them. Our children may be gentle and affectionate, but they are not grateful, and they know nothing of self-control. How do English mothers attain this result? "By a rule which is impersonal, invariable, 'and firm; in other words by law, which foims man for liberty, while arbitrary decree only leads to rebellion, and attempts at emancipation. This method has the immense advantage of forming characters which are restive under arbitrary authority and yet amenable to justice, conscious of what is due to them and what they owe to others, -watchful over conscience, and practised in self-government. In every English child one feels something of the national motto, ' God and my right.' and in every English household one lias a sense that the home is a citadel, or belter still, a ship in which every one has his place. Naturally, in such a world the value set on family life corresponds with the cost of producing it; it is sweet to those whose efforts maintain it." I am afraid that the majority of colonial households of all classes approach much more nearly to the Swiss or French ones with which Amiel was acquainted at homo than to the calm and well-iuled English ones which he praises. ALPIIA. TSTo\v, my dear comrades, wo bavo reached the olewe of our moating, in which, although I cannot help thinking the tone has been a little sombre, there is certainly a- very fair variety, and some very pleasant papers. L'lrlandais, I miss you ! Do try to be with | us next time, the last of our session, which ■ ! closes the month after with an "At home," to which I invite all our members, and at which I propose to be the entertainer. "Inconnu," I cannot help saying you have disappointed me,, dear; hurt my vanity

[ pernaps in that our -circle- tost its charm fo? you so quickly. Trusting to welcome" you all next time, and especially asking each anct all to make our "Gallery of Great Men" a success worthy of the club, EMMELINE. Club meets November 1. Contributions rnusfc be in by October 20. TOPIC. " The portrait of a great man." Members to paint (briefly) the portrait of some gieat mart whose influence in history, humanity, art, or literature entitles him to a place in the Cosy Corner Club's '• Gallery of Great Men." The 1900 session of the Cosy Corner Club will close on November 1, on which date "Emmeline" invites all members to meet her at a little entertainment which she ha* prepared for their special amusement. " Emmeline," AT HOME, November 1: 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. Cosy Corner Club. A Magic Mirror will be shown. EMMELINE'S POST BAG. COSY COHJTSE CLUB COKEFSPONDENCE. Lex.— Your very interesting paper must, I am sure, have cost you both time and trouble, and if Eiiimeline's thanks in any way repay you, I tiust you will accept them, supplemented, I am sure', by the pleasure of "our members. lam glad you have chosen Emerson's as the portrait j^ou will hang in cur gallery— to paint it will be a labour of love with you I know. My Boy Fkiend.— l begin to think I must leavo out tho "my" and substitute "our," for you have beaome a friend, to all of ;u«. What an infinitely tender and subtle companionship is this of the Cosy Corner Club!- Just enough of mystery and intangibleness about it to reader it as alluring as the early mists o£ morning. I wish indeed you were in. "The House Opposite," yet if I dare believe that I have '•'found the nearest way to our hearts, and planted it with flowers," what more can I wish, save that my flowers may live in the sunshine of your kind ''remembrance" ? Sweetbriar writes: — "I missed the comments of our dear president veiy much at the last

meeting. 1 hope mothers will take Boy Friend's advice to henrt." Thank you, dear Sweetbriar. You ace, modesty obliged me to omit the adjectives; but here they aie in your neat, clear writing, to cheer and encourage me You aie always so mindful of others. Ted — I did understand — fully, dear. Indeed, I do not think you need ever fear my misunderstanding you! No, the prize stories are illustrated by other means this year. lam reading '"London to Ladysmith," and am. a. little disappointed — it goes haltingly after poor Steeveus. The writer of a pleassmfc lpltei- from d correspondent who will, I hope, join the C.C.C., speaks of "liking Ted's papers so much; they aie always interesting." Starlight.— Thanks for the reminder, but I am so glad to say I had not forgotten ; your paper was edited and commented on before' your letter card arrived. Daphne tells me she liked your paper best of all at the last meeting. Doe, who will, I hope, join us next t'me, writes: "Ths C,CC. is, I think, a splendid institution, quite as good as a debating society. What a very interesting subject the last topic was! I enjoyed rpading Buy Friend's paper immensely, and quite agree with him, in all .he wrote." Starlight congratulates us on 'the success of the year's work." c A Grandmother, Fiji. — I have posted to you, dear friend, the many kind and sympathising messages forwarded to me by our members, men and women alike — a little company; of true hearts, tenderly alive to your sorrow.' May they comfort you, as 1 know they must. It seemed to me more suitable and delicate that the written words should reach you, and you alone, than that I should publish, them. I hope I have entered into the true spirit; of your feeling and theirs. E-ve. — It is quite delightful, dear Eve, to find I a-rn not forgotten. Thank you for your pleasant letter, which makes me feel I wish. I could fly acioss to you (if you'd have me), and shpre your walks and talks. Thank you for joining us, even though late, late, so late!

— too late for me to edit. Gabriel,:le. — Thank you for your nice letter, Gabrielle. It is one of the places I have always wished so much to visit. I had sucli a lovely collection of ferns brought to me from there once. It must be a paradise for the sketcher, I think, and for the dreamer of dreams. Its mental influence is evidently charming.